


My Love For You

by LilTabasco



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, alien/human interaction, not explicit but not for little ones, spicy meatball, this is between piccolo and chi chi obviously please do not act surprised when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilTabasco/pseuds/LilTabasco
Summary: Piccolo's not the romantic type - but even he can wax poetic, if only in his mind.





	

Piccolo could never say that he was one for romance, and while he was consistently forced to endure the humans in his life consistently focusing on that one particular thing, he couldn’t help but find definitive flaws in it. From Gohan’s scholarly readings, to Chi Chi’s novels and shows, to Bulma’s loud proclamations of “steamy” interactions—none of them suited Piccolo.  
Because so far as he was concerned, none of them were accurate in the least.

In his years as Chi Chi’s husband, he’d come to appreciate waking up early in the morning, her heel firmly lodged in his back, her fists thrown wildly about, and her cheeks squished against the pillow top as drool trickled out of her mouth. Her hair—which never ceased to amaze him—was always twisted wildly about, loosed from whatever strange style she’d had it in the day before. She always managed to tuck herself in just right, to where the little fat pocket would poke out from underneath her neck. He supposed that there wasn’t anything particularly attractive about it, but he found himself entranced.  
Even when she finally woke, her eyes bleary and crusty as she smacked her lips, staring up at him with incredulity. It always took her at least fifteen minutes to become fully aware of her surroundings, and Piccolo cherished that. Because even though she was no stranger to fight, and hurt, she’d never had her peace of mind taken from her. There was no need to be alert and constantly on watch—and that brought him joy.

Frilly words that Gohan rattled off never seemed to scratch the surface, either, of the way one smelled. Oh, sure—pretty, flowery words of rich perfumes and exotic shampoos, but nothing told of sweat, stale food, and the oil that she always cooked with.

She would walk past him, sporting plates and pots and pans, her wide hips rolling with the motion as he caught every whiff of her. He had found it unpleasant before their feelings had grown—but now? Now, whenever she clambered into bed after a long day, reeking of food and hard work, he found himself staring at the ceiling, recognizing her scent for what it was—what he’d never had—home.  
Their intimate times were not his favorite, but they did rank high. His claws on her thighs that she always seemed embarrassed about—claiming that two boys had robbed her of any desirability. He couldn’t understand how, in anyway, her figure could ever be ruined. What she referred to as ‘stretch marks’, he just slid his hands over, not fully understanding how they were any different than his own pink plaits. The belly that she protested about what fine to him, and the breasts that she was so nervous about—how they ‘sagged’—seemed just fine when they were pressed against his chest as he held her close.

There were so many times he’d caught her in front of a mirror, fussing with her appearance, handling parts of her anatomy that she found dissatisfactory. Piccolo was not one for words though—especially not such sweet ones—and he never could seem to convey properly how little he cared. How perfect she was by simply existing, her fiery soul and all.

Because that was the true core of it—her very existence. Chi Chi was the type of woman who would fight anything that moved, if it was for her family. Her small nose would crinkle up, her brow would set in, and Piccolo could practically do a countdown before she exploded. Her whole body would quake with tremors as her jaw finally unhinged, her shrill voice wreaking havoc on whosoever had dared to upset her (though, most of the time, it was him).

He would always wait it out, let her get it out of her system. There had only been one time he’d been so foolhardy as to kiss her while she was angry—and his broken nose could only be blamed on himself, for that mistake. It was the last time he’d listened to any advice given by Bulma. Now, he merely had to bide his time for Chi Chi’s anger to wash over, before she’d always come tiptoeing into the room, a stern look on her face as she bent down to give him one chaste peck. Daddy told me to never go to bed angry at someone, she’d whisper, obviously still angry, ‘cuz you never know who’s gonna be there when you wake up.

Even in anger, he still accepted her kisses, because they were something wonderful in and of themselves. The soft press of lips that really meant nothing—but were everything at the same time. While there was nothing particularly magical about the act, it was the fact that it only happened between the two of them. A sealing bond between them that meant they were together.  
He didn’t care if she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet for the day, or where or not she’d just left the bathroom entirely refreshed—a kiss was a kiss, and he intended to have plenty before their time (her time) was up on Earth. Every time their lips met, he was reminded that Chi Chi could not be revived by the Dragon Balls if she left this world due to her human capacity, and that’s why, in spite of his reserved nature, Piccolo often pulled her fully against him when they were alone.

Her tiny, dull, human teeth were always astounding to him. There was nothing there for her to use defensively, and it amazed him that humans had come so far on this planet. He wished that he could reach inside and view the, marvel at the difference between his own fangs. However, he didn’t need to be told, so much as he assumed, that foreign digits were not welcome inside of peoples’ mouths. Instead, he used his tongue to map out Chi Chi’s mouth.

There was that one crooked tooth, that overlapped the other. There was the slight gap in her front two bottom teeth. There were what she referred to as “caps”, that he still didn’t fully understand. So many things about her that he could find just by exploring. So many little things that she seemed hell-bent on ‘improving’ about herself, that didn’t matter to him.  
And that’s why, on nights when they were alone, and she was straddling his hips, her arms clasped around his shoulders, he tried to show what he could not say. Words failed him continuously, especially when they carried any emotional weight. That’s why his hands gripped her hips, uncaring of the little imperfections. Because while she lamented that she’d forgotten to shave, Piccolo couldn’t honestly tell why it mattered. What difference did hair make when he was inside of her? What difference did how “tight” she was make when he was still sheathed by her heat, his nose buried in her hair as she whispered little comments underneath her breath.

The sweat, the heat, the imperfections, and most of all her—they were home.

How do I love thee, let me count the ways?

And there they were.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna upload all my one-shots onto AO3. I know Chiccolo isn't a big pairing, but I love it, and not everyone browses Tumblr.


End file.
